


Lovers on the Sun

by Resri



Series: One Flame With Seven Tongues [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Binge Drinking, F/M, He doesn't deserve this shit, Idiots in Love, Kidnapping, M/M, Protective Ravager family, Ravager Weddings, Ravager weddings are hard work, Ravagers - Freeform, Violence, Weddings, Yondu and Kraglin get hitched, because they're Ravagers, it wouldn't be right if their weddings weren't as insane as everything else, poor Dey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-02-28 00:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resri/pseuds/Resri
Summary: A Ravager wedding is more than a week of binge drinking, raucous dancing, and trashing of the location. That's just the party afterwards. Surviving long enough to get there is the problem.Especially if it's one of the seven admirals of the Ravager fleet you want to marry.





	1. Can't help falling in love

**Author's Note:**

> Hraxians belong to Write-like-an-American. They are a fabulous species and I love Hraxian-Kraglin very much <3

Eight years ago he had knelt before a cowering blue thing with resignation in its eyes that turned to confusion when Stakar snapped it's collar. He had taken a broken boy who never even knew the concept of freedom under his wing, and through years of hard work on both their parts, many set backs and close calls, they made a proud, self sufficient and semi-mature adult out of him.  
And an ass hole, but Stakar likes to think that is all Yondu. This particular trait was just dormant before and could only develop its full potential in the optimal environment that is a Ravager ship.

Stakar remembers that in the beginning, Yondu didn't like physical contact of any kind, flinching away from the smallest pat on the shoulder like he had been burned. He had spent days, sometimes weeks in the bowels of their ship, only crawling out when he was hungry or they needed the arrow.  
After gradually learning that touch could bring comfort, and pleasure instead of pain, he was a lot more sociable. Stakar and the others, back then just the founding members of the Ravagers before they hired more crew, did their best to give their youngest member a feeling of security.  
When the new crew was hired and there suddenly was a chain of command, Stakar had been ridiculously proud when Yondu stepped up and assumed the role of second mate with an ease that suggested he'd make a good captain some day.

The boy, a moniker which still drives Yondu to the brink of madness, had figured out the carnal part of touching very fast, too, helped along by awkward conversations and the bot hookers Stakar bought him on their early jounts to Contraxia. If there had been any previous personal experience on Yondu's part, he'd never said anything, and Stakar hadn't asked.

He discouraged his senior officers from messing with the rank less crew, so Yondu kept his sexcapades to the planets and space stations they made port in. His conquests never wore the blue, green or yellow leathers of the Ravager clans.  
That is, until the Hraxian kid had shown up. The poor thing had promptly taken a shine to Yondu, which the blue bastard milked for all it was worth (Apparently nobody had told the Hraxian kid that it was a Very Stupid Idea for a rookie to have a crush on the second mate and close friend/adopted son of Stakar Ogord). They had all been very amused back then. But no matter what the blue ass hole had put him through, the kid stuck it out. He survived his rookie time contrary to popular belief, and survived following Yondu around on both missions and private shenanigans, which was much more surprising in Stakar's opinion. Yondu is missing the voice in your head that tells you that something is a bad idea. He's also blessed with an improbable amount of gumption, which kind of evens it out.  
In the end, though, the Hraxian kid's resilience couldn't have been his only strength, because Yondu went from wasting the poor sod's time to actually spending it with him, and while he still roped him into the most idiotic and reckless adventures, he did so because he wanted his company, not because he needed cannon fodder. The kid stuck around, earned himself some scars, climbed the ranks, and when Stakar's old team, his closest, most trusted friends, came together to party and tell stories about their misadventures, the name _Kraglin Obfonteri_ was spoken so often that Stakar actually remembered it.  
He had been happy that his boy had found somebody who could keep his attention. The kid had done so now for close to four years.  
So yes, Stakar had known that there was something going on, something more durable than a crush, something that was reciprocated even, but he sure as hell wasn't prepared for _this_.

He's staring at his second mate in bafflement.

“What?” Yondu asks, glowering at him from under deeply furrowed brows, his arms folded over his chest.

“ _You_ ,” Stakar says slowly, “want to get married.”

Yondu's face gets impossibly darker, but he grunts a, “Yessir,” nonetheless.

Stakar looks over to the Hraxian kid - _Kraglin_ , his name is Kraglin, he reminds himself. Kraglin looks like he'd very much like to be anywhere but here. He is standing so stiff that it hurts to look at him. Gifted engineer or not, it isn't often one pays a surprise visit to the captain's office to announce one's engagement to the captain's adopted son. Stakar tries to keep his displeasure off his face. He doesn't succeed.

“And you want to marry _him_?” He knows his tone is maybe a little more disbelieving than what is called for, but _seriously_!

“Wha's that supposed to mean?!” Yondu's indignant growl gets ignored in favor of keeping a stern eye on Kraglin, who is white as a sheet, but nodding fiercely.

He's a hairy thing, that Kraglin. Not only in the face. Stakar has seen him work on the m-ships, with his jumpsuit half off and tied around his waist so his arms were uncovered. The patchy stubble he seems to be growing in an attempt to look older only does a half-assed job, though.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“23, sir.”

“And you already want to get married?”

Kraglin sends a bewildered look to Yondu, who seems to be pissed at everything by now, and stutters, “Y-yessir.”

“You startin' to sound like a broken record, old man,” and yeah, his boy is angry alright. Stakar decides not to make them regret following protocol instead of eloping, and leans back in his chair with a sigh.

“Well, if you are both sure...” He pauses one last time, but gets no reaction from either of them. “Then your request is noted. Congratulations on being engaged.”

Ravager weddings are not planned by the happy couple, there are no wordy speeches, or priests reciting prayers in a foreign language. But there are some peculiar traditions to follow. They have done their duty for the time being, and have to await the next steps.

Now that the whole thing is out of their hands, they don't stick around. Yondu gives Stakar one last nod before ushering his new fiancé out of the captain's office without waiting to be dismissed, but Stakar lets it slide. At least Kraglin pounds his chest in the Ravager salute before the door closes.

Alone in his office, Stakar is still struggling to wrap his head around the whole bizarre idea.  
It's not that he doesn't wish the both of them the best, it's just that he has never imagined the words 'We wanna get married ' to spill from the lips of Yondu Udonta. He doesn't want him, or Kraglin for that matter, to make a mistake by rushing into something that they're either not ready for or are just plainly not made for in general.

He doesn't get anywhere on his own, so he decides to call the first person that should know about their unofficially adopted son's decision.  
Aleta answers the call after only a moment, which isn't all that surprising. They had all lived together, a family in everything but blood. Their clocks run on the same time, so it's late evening for her as well as for him.

“Stakar, did you call to apologize?” is the first thing Aleta says. Ah yes, she was mad about that m-ship-incident on G'vern last astral-month.

“I already apologized. It was an accident, woman, why can't you let it go?” is his grouchy reply.

“Because I have told you a hundred times already that you are a shit pilot and should let others fly for you when we are running for our lifes from Kree purists!”

“One, I am not a shit pilot, we were under fire! And two, there were no others, only you and me and your wounded gunner. Both of us had an m-ship to fly!”

“Yes, and you flew yours into mine,” Aleta says cutely.

“It's only a scratch,” Stakar snaps, but she ignores him.

“I still don't understand why you thought going down without some fucking muscle was a good idea. You're a Ravager admiral, Stakar. We don't have the luxury of walking around on our lonesome, even on peaceful pleasure planets.”

“G'vern is at the ass end of the galaxy. They are tourist loving pacifists with a population of only half a million. Those Kree were only there because they crashed their ship after a storm.”

“Which didn't stop them from spotting you, the great Stakar Ogord, enemy to the Kree Empire, and trying to kill you. You're lucky I was close with my gunner.”

Said gunner had accompanied her captain on a stroll through the market, had spotted a fleeing Stakar, and had taken out two of the 26 Kree with a plasma rifle. Unfortunately, she had taken a hit then herself.

Since most of the two crews were in the major city on the other side of the planet, and the two Ogord's wanted to spend a quiet few days in private, there wasn't much hope for quick backup. Aleta and Stakar fought their way through the streets, staying barely ahead of their pursuers through the simple fact that they knew the layout of the city from many a visit. Starting a giant shoot out in the middle of the crowd had been discussed and promptly discarded, since they both liked the planet way too much to piss off the locals because of civilian casualties.  
So they headed to the nearby space sport, helping the injured crewman along. Neither of them willing to leave their m-ship behind, so they boarded separately and took off. The Kree didn't hesitate long before simply stealing another bird and following them into space. While the ensuing chase had been exciting, it ended as quickly as it had started when the _Starhawk_ , Stakar's galleon in a stationary orbit above the planet, had blasted the Kree into smithereens with a single shot.

Still, the little adventure had ruined a perfectly good vacation day, they had a wounded gunner (who was well on her way to recovery and ridiculously proud of having helped two of her admirals in a fight against Kree) and had caused an argument between the Ogord's after Stakar had bumped into Aleta's m-ship on their hurried way up through the atmosphere.

“You should just admit that you're a horrible pilot, and a reckless idiot,” Aleta says with the mean little smirk that had stolen Stakar's heart, once upon a time. It makes him grin back at her and answer, “Never.”

When she shakes her head, muttering something about _men and their egos_ , he remembers why he called her in the first place.

“As fun as this little discussion has been, that wasn't actually why I hailed.”

“What's the matter?”

“Yondu,” he says gravely, and Aleta laughs at him.

“What did our boy do this time?” she asks with fondness.

Stakar grimaces, and answers, “He wants to get married.”

There is a beat of silence where Aleta just blinks at him through the projector, her face not betraying her emotions. Then she sighs and mumbles, “Of course he does,” before hanging up. Stakar is used to that from his wife. A few minutes later he gets a message that the _Lady Justice_ will rendezvous with the _Starhawk_ in two days.


	2. Rude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The admirals of the Ravager fleet have a meeting, Kraglin gets a shovel talk, and preparations are made.

The day after they talked to Stakar is busy, because apparently the captain has called an impromptu meeting of the admirals. The crew is excited, because that could mean the entire fleet works together for a big job. Kraglin, on the other hand, knows from Yondu that there is no such plan in the making. That can only mean one thing. 

He wonders if his end is near. Yondu only laughs at him.

The next day sees Kraglin working on Mujabah's m-ship after it got rattled on the last mission. Since he told her back when he was still a snotty rookie in his first week as a Ravager that her ship sucked, she makes sure he's always the one repairing it when she managed to get it shot to hell again. Which, considering her penchant for getting into dog fights and no inclination for fancy maneuvering when she can just blow her enemies to bits, is depressingly regular. Every time he begs her to be more careful in the future, the Easik just says, “Chief gunner,” like it's an excuse for anything, and ignores him.   
This time at least she's wasting her off shift by sitting next to him on the wing of her bird, a bottle of moonshine steadily emptying, and entertains him with the newest gossip. Sadly, it evolves nearly exclusively around the question why the _Lady Justice_ , the _Freedom Fighter_ and the _Talon_ are paying them a surprise visit. He knows the answer, but keeps it to himself. 

Suddenly Mujabah's constant nattering breaks off. When Kraglin turns to her, she's shot up from where she had slouched with her legs dangling over the edge of the wing. Before he can ask what's going on, the roar, “OBFONTERI!” echoes through the entire hangar. Kraglin flinches so violently that he nearly falls from the wing. His heart hammers in his rib cage, and he swallows the curse on the tip of his tongue as he climbs over to Mujabah's side. He knows that voice. Down on the gangway is no other than captain Aleta motherflarking Ogord. 

“Quit gaping like an idiot and come down here, boy. I gotta talk to you,” she barks, and Kraglin nearly stumbles over his feet in his haste to get off the ship, ignoring the scandalized look Mujabah sends his way. He pounds his chest once his feet hit the floor, and tries not to look like he's about to piss himself. 

“Captain Ogord, welcome. What a surprise that you're here already. Word was you'd be joining us later this afternoon, mam,” calls Jabs from up on her ship, sounding way too chipper. She's probably excited to have a first row seat to what is going to be the hottest gossip of the week, Kraglin thinks bitterly. 

“That's because I took my m-ship to be here before the others. The _Lady Justice_ will reach us tonight. For now, I gotta have a word with your mechanic.” 

“He's all yours, mam,” Mujabah says eagerly. Traitor. 

“What can I do fer you, captain Ogord?” Kraglin asks nervously. Aleta only snorts, and takes a step closer to him. He's not an idiot, he can guess why she changed course, left her usual hunting grounds and paid the _Starhawk_ an unplanned visit. The problem is, well. She's scary. Her grins are always like the slash of a knife, her looks like bullets. She has the presence of a wild cat, elegant, graceful, and deadly. None of the other admirals scare the shit out of him like she does. So when she takes another few step closer, he inches backwards, further and further, until his back hits the flank of the m-ship, and he can't escape anywhere when she leans in. 

“I heard you want to marry my boy,” she says, and there's something dangerous in her tone. A tiny gasp sounds form above. 

“Y-Yes mam,” Kraglin stutters. She purses her lips and nods, her eyes boring into his, as if cleaving through his non-existent poker face and reading his thoughts and intentions. 

“Oh? And you two kids think you know what you're doing?”

“Ain't no kids,” Kraglin mutters sulkily, and immediately regrets it when a shark grin blossoms on the captain's face. 

“No kid, huh? Then I'll treat you like I'd treat any other man. Let me tell you, Mr. Obfonteri, what I will do to anyone who dares to hurt my boy,” she growls and leans in further.

~

Stakar had jogged down to the hangar after he got a call from Aleta that she would reach them in five minutes and expected a space in his docking bay where he couldn't scratch her bird up again. Permission for docking was granted, but now he stands before her m-ship, a save three parking spots from his, Aleta nowhere to be seen. Her m-ship is powered down and empty. He's a little put out that she'd just storm off without waiting for him and is about to give her a call when, “OBFONTERI!” is hollered through the entire hangar. He'd know his wife's angry voice anywhere, and falls into a brisk pace to reach her before she can maim Yondu's fiancé, where ever she found him. 

He finds them a few rows down. Aleta is boxing the Hraxian kid in between her arms and the rump of an m-ship. He looks like he wants to melt into the hull he's plastered himself against, wide eyed and terrified, nearly nose to nose with Aleta. 

“Leta, what are you doing to the poor kid,” Stakar breaks in, resignation in his voice. She takes her eyes of Kraglin, but doesn't step away. 

“I'm just having a conversation with my future son in law,” she answers cheerily. 

“Well he won't be if you scare him to death first,” Stakar says. He even tries to sound stern, but fails   
since he'd like to have a _conversation_ with the Hraxian kid himself. 

“Oh please, if a little talk with me could scare him to death he'd never survived our blue idiot for this long,” Aleta tells him, and gives Obfonteri a once over, which is more than a little awkward from this close. “Right, slim?” 

Obfonteri nods, and Aleta takes a step back. 

“You get what we've talked about?” 

He nods again, but she's not satisfied with it this time. “Words, kid.” 

“Yes, mam,” Obfonteri answers tightly, and then gulps before continuing, “With all due respect, mam, I wouldna do what you said even without the shovel talk. Otherwise I wouldna marry the bastard.” 

Stakar watches with bemusement as Aleta's smirk transforms into something more genuine. She claps the kid on the shoulder, who manages to only flinch slightly, and says, “Good. You got my blessings, then.”

She steps away, grabs Stakar's arm and pulls him along. 

~

Yondu had spent his entire morning overseeing preparations for the arrival of the other three clans. That means half the time was wasted by yelling at Horuz, the bosun's most annoying underling. The constant arguing would irk him a lot less if the guy didn't know what he was talking about, and if Yondu wasn't planning on making him his bosun when he becomes captain in the future. Some time around midday, Marty had commed to tell him that Aleta had just reached them in her m-ship. He'd played with the thought of sending a warning to Kraglin, but had discarded the idea with an evil grin. 

Now, he walks up to his table (yes, his. Most of the crew, apart from the few select he calls his own, know to stay the fuck away from it) and drops his tray next to Kraglin's. His fiancé – and isn't that still a weird thought – gives him a reproachful look, but bumps into his shoulder once he's settled anyway. Mujabah on the other side of the table nearly chokes in her haste to swallow her bite of mystery meat before proclaiming, very loudly, “I can't believe you ass holes didn't tell me you're planning on getting married!” 

The tables around theirs go quiet. 

“Jaaaabs,” Yondu whines, but Tullk, who's sitting next to the gunner and is surrounded by a whole damn mountain of data pads, only says, “Don't bother, lad. She's been ranting about it since she sat down half an hour ago. The whole ship will know by dinner.” 

“Wonderful. The fuck do you have so many data pads for,” Yondu asks over Mujabah's enraged demands. 

“Quartermaster has me putting together the paper work for the stuff we gon restock in the next port. Apparently the rookies down in storage don't understand how to compile their files at the end of the day. It's all over the place, and I've been workin' on this shit all morning.” Tullk accentuates his words by lifting his nearly empty cup of caff. Then he shoots Yondu and Kraglin a sly smirk. “Ya know, lads... There is a scary amount of alcohol on the list. And some other weird shit. And bot hookers. Lotsa bot hookers. All specialized ones, too.”

“Oh wow, sounds like Marty's in charge of the planning,” Yondu says, completely unperturbed, and digs into his food. 

“What 'weird shit'?” Nobody answers Kraglin, so he tries again, “Hey! What weird shit?! Is it for the wedding? There was no weird shit when Grodénchik and Chase got hitched!“ 

Tullk only grins and pulls his data pads out of the increasingly concerned mechanic's reach. 

“Grodénchik and Chase didn't have Marty doing the planning, only their boring ass friends,” Yondu says through a bite of beasties. They're still wriggling in his mouth, their tiny screams soon silenced by metal capped chompers grinding them into sludge. Mujabah stares at him with a disgusted grimace before giving him a kick under the table. 

“What?!”

“Eat with yer mouth closed! And I can't believe you ass holes didn't say a fucking peep that you wanted to get married before you went to the captain! Or afterwards!” 

“It was kind of a spontaneous thing, really,” Kraglin mutters, and earns himself a glare.

“I'm like at least half responsible for you two dingbats getting together, and I had to find out through captain Aleta when she came by and threatened to cut off Kraggles' fingers and toes and... other bits, and make him eat them if he should ever hurt your feelings.” 

At that, Yondu gives his partner a once-over, who just glowers sourly. No visible wounds. Good. 

“Yeah,” he says, “she does that. Back in the day when Stakar proposed, she told him the same thing.”

There's a beat of silence.

“...She gave captain Stakar her own shovel talk?” Jabs asks slowly with awe in her voice. Yondu nods gravely. Kraglin lets his head thump on the table. Tullk slurps the last of his caff. 

~

It's already pretty late when the last two missing members of 'The Seven' enter the rec room Stakar has claimed as his own. It's Charlie, who's ship had the longest way to the meeting point, and Yondu, who'd been sent down to the docking bay to greet the Jovian captain and who is thrown over a mighty shoulder like a sack of yaro root. He looks very unhappy about it. 

“What?” Stakar asks over Martinex' roaring laughter and Mainframe's high pitched giggling. 

“I tried to congratulate him properly, but he wouldn't let me hug him, so I had to catch him,” Charlie answers, giving the disgruntled looking Yondu a pat on the back. 

“How long before he stopped struggling?” Aleta asks. 

“About half way up here.” 

“I hate all of you,” Yondu informs them, and this time Charlie lets him go when he starts contorting to get out of his grip. 

They eat and drink together, only the seven of them like in the good old times when they did this nearly every evening before Aleta, Charlie and Krugarr left to found their own clans. Their life now is a good one, too. More security, more power, more jobs, more units. They rule over their own patch of space, feared in half the quadrant. He still gets melancholic sometimes, when he has to send messages instead of just flicking on the comm to talk to his family. Something in his chest cavity twinges as he looks at all of them, laughing about a story that Krugarr tells through his magic mandalas and which Mainframe denies loudly. Soon, Yondu will go to do his own thing, too, and Mainframe will leave her position as Krugarr's first mate as well. Two new clans will join the 16 that already exist, and more will grow under the banner of another two colors. For a moment, Stakar wonders if Yondu will make his ridiculous pimp coat the attire of the future Udonta clan, and snorts. It gains Martinex' attention, who raises a shiny eyebrow at his captain. Marty, at least, will stay. He's made that clear already. Maybe, Stakar thinks and grins when Yondu starts arguing with Aleta about what she said to his beau, they should do a big job together again. It would fill their coffers, and nothing was as much fun as stealing some shit with the old team. 

After the wedding, of course, and before that could go down, they'd first have to plan it. 

Once everybody is done with eating, they kick Yondu out. He leaves under protest, and staggers in the opposite direction to the officer quarters. Maybe there is a similar party down on the c-deck, with cheaper alcohol but better company. Company in the shape of a Hraxian with too much hair and not enough fat on him. 

Not important now, they have planning to do. And for that, they need more drinks. Aleta fills the shot glasses with a new round, Marty mixes cocktails in colors that make Stakar's eyes hurt. 

“So. Our little boy is getting married,” Charlie intones gravely, making Marty snort. 

“He's what, 28 now? Not really a little boy no more.” 

“I didn't say he's a child, only that he's not exactly tall,” is the reply. The Jovian bares his big teeth in an equally big grin, looking down at the rest of them. 

“Next to you everybody is small,” Marty mutters, and hands him his drink. Charlie thanks him, and downs it in one go before returning the glass to their resident bar keeper. 

“Only saying,” Marty starts again with a sigh, pouring the new drink. “Maybe you shouldn't all come down hard on them. Believe it or not, I think Yondu knows what he's doing, for once in his life.”

_So you approve of Obfonteri?_ Krugarr signs. He doesn't participate in the drinking on accounts of not having a mouth. 

“Well, he's is a smart enough fella, I guess. Does a good job on the m-ships, is a mean little scrapper. He's definitely got quick hands. A good Ravager. And he's survived Yondu for four years without murdering him in his sleep or jumping ship, so it gotta be love.” 

“Oh it is. He mouthed off to me today, when I threatened him. Nobody sane does that,” Aleta tells them proudly. 

“Insanity equals love?” Marty asks. 

“Hell yeah,” she answers, and sends Stakar a wink. He does his best not to grin like a moron. 

“Oh, it's all so romantic. I love weddings ever since you two got married. I have so many ideas!” Mainframe chirps. She's left her three meter tall body back on the _Talon_ , having Krugarr carry her head around instead. Now she sits on the table, her eyes blinking and her voice buzzing shrilly with excitement. 

Stakar takes in the group and their content expression, and asks, just to be sure, “So you all think they'll go through with it?” 

“Of course!” Aleta says, matter of fact. “You know how it goes. If Yondu wants something, he'll get it somehow. Your worrying won't change that. Anyways, I already gave that Kraglin boy my warning, so it better not go to waste.”

“I wonder who proposed?” Mainframe asks with way too much enthusiasm. Stakar can practically hear the circuitry in her metal head sparking in glee. 

“Kraglin.” The confidence with which Martinex delivers that statement is suspicious. They all turn to him with questioning looks. 

“Why are you so sure?”

“'Cause my quarters are next to Yondu's and I hear _everything_ through the walls. A few days ago they were fighting about their last mission, I think. Something about a bot hooker, a red sand dealer and a stolen Nova Cruiser.” He shrugs, pouring a pink substance into his already green-yellow colored drink. “Kraglin seemed to be pissed about the part with the stolen Nova Cruiser, not the bot hooker. He yelled 'You're a reckless idiot, if ya pull flark like that again I'll kick yer ass', so Yondu yelled 'That's _I'll kick yer ass, sir_ for you', to which Kraglin yelled 'You can shove your 'sir' where the sun don't shine, so your over inflated head gets some company', then Yondu yelled 'Why do ya keep naggin' so much, we ain't fucking married', and Kraglin yelled 'Maybe we should tie the knot, then I can nag official like'. After that it got quiet for a bit. I guess they talked, or something. Then they had sex.” 

After his little speech, Martinex takes a sip from his brightly colored cocktail through a twirly straw. They all gawp at him for a second before Aleta sighs and mumbles, “Of course they did,” and fills up the shot glasses again.


	3. Ring of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party happens

Down on the c-deck, in crew dorm 3, a spontaneous party is going down. Kraglin was hustled there after his shift by Mujabah, who made him jug a bottle of something potent and absolutely disgusting on the way and then pushed him into the arms of their cheering gang. Tullk, the Lem twins from engineering, Horuz from the bosun's lot, the hot Krylorian chick Kiba who only kind of drifted into their circle because Mujabah likes her hair, but who knows a shit ton about the comm systems of the Nova Corp. Everyone Yondu has taken aside during the last few months and informed about positions on a new ship that may open soon-ish.  
Then he's accosted by other people, like the crew that have their bunks in the same block as Kraglin, Tullk and Horuz. And a lot of people that don't. Everyone has heard about the upcoming wedding by now, and they all wanna join in on the celebrations. Most crew that's off shift is here. Kraglin, with the next bottle of moonshine in hand, receives about a hundred pats on the shoulder and noogies and one armed hugs from random people congratulating him on bagging the second mate. He _is_ a little proud of himself. After all, he's gone where no Ravager has gone before. And since they'll be getting _married_ – which is still the strangest thought. For a long time Kraglin didn't believe he'd ever get hitched, let alone to one of the scariest men of the quadrant – nobody else will ever go there either. At least not without him present.  
A bunch of his mechanics challenge him to a game of Skyllian-Five, music blares over the dorm's speakers (Mujabah's doing, since she's the only senior bridge officer here and hacking the intercom system is worth a trip to the brig) and copious amounts of the Ravager home brew is handed out. It's gearing up to be a good night. About half the crew will hate themselves tomorrow. 

A few hours into the party Tullk returns from the bogs, hollering, “Look who I found on the way!”, staggering back in with an already happily buzzed Yondu in his arms. The crowd roars, bestowing their well wishes on their second mate as he weaves through, and promptly cheers again when he stumbles into Krags and plants a sloppy, badly aimed kiss on him. Somebody hands them the next round, and the party goes on. 

Now, Yondu lies on his back in Tullk's bunk. Krags is on his side, pressed against him from shoulder to hip, and lets his fingers wander over tattoos and scars alike. They'd have climbed up to Kraglin's bunk, the third off the ground, but Tullk had been still sober enough to talk them out of it.  
Kraglin's vision swims a little, but that's okay. He can focus enough to watch his fingers as they trace the navy swirls on Yondu's chest. The bass sends pleasant tremors through the metal frame of the bed, the alcohol has him loose and relaxed, and he only listens with half an ear as a heavily slurring Mujabah tries to badger Tullk into divulging information about the 'weird shit' that is supposedly on his shopping list. The man laughs drunkenly, and wraps his arms around her when she loses her balance and drops onto his lap. Horuz has a whole circle of admirers clustered around him as he bench presses one of the comms girls who's loudly counting. Baru and Betyr, the Lem twins, are writhing on the dance floor, perfect mirror images of each other. They can't drink, but the alcohol fumes hanging thick in the air get filtered through their gills, so they too are fairly intoxicated by now. A batch of rookies flail around them, feeling secure in the knowledge that nobody's gonna ruin the party by murdering them in plain sight. One of them, a young Badoon, is carrying a gunner chick on his shoulders. She's waving her arms and her lips move to the lyrics of the song. Kraglin's seen her plenty of times, since she's one of Mujabah's favorites  
The group playing cards has apparently proceeded to strip-Skyllian-Five. 

“I didn't know Chase had a tattoo there,” Kraglin says, and walks his fingers down to the lip of the pouch. 

“And issa nice one, too. Not like your shitty ink,” Yondu slurs, admiring her for a moment, and then turns his leer on Kraglin. He shoves a cold hand under his shirt and tweaks Kraglin's side where his old gang tattoo sits.  
Kraglin does not squeak. 

He does retaliate, though, by tickling along the seam of the pouch. It's stapled shut, but sensitive enough. He's rewarded with a shudder and a kick to the shin. When Yondu tries to scowl up at him, he can't resist to plant a little kiss on that scrunched up nose. 

“Sap,” is the verdict, but he can live with that. 

“You know,” he murmurs as he leans further over Yondu, their faces so close that they can hear each other clearly over the hubbub of the party and share their sour breath and alcohol stink. “It's an ancient Hraxian custom to get tattoos for the mating ceremony and for the anniversaries.” 

Yondu snorts him in the face. “That's orloni shit, and you know it. Ain't no ancient Hraxian tradition left, and even if it were, your gutter rat ass wouldn't know 'bout it.” 

Kraglin presses a kiss to the side of Yondu's grinning mouth, and then another on his jaw before giving one pierced ear a nibble. The hand on his side, now a little warmed by his body heat, tightens. 

“You're probably right,” he breaths into his ear and delights in the goose flash it causes. 

“But that don't mean we can't make some tradition outa it,” 

“You sayin' you want matching ink, Obfonteri?” Yondu's voice is husky, like usual, but it does things to Kraglin's insides when the words are growled into his ear. 

“Or you want me to get your name tattooed on my ass?” 

Yes, Kraglin would want that very much. He doesn't say so, though. Doesn't say _so everybody knows who that ass belongs to_ , because Yondu sometimes gets iffy about the insinuation of belonging to anyone but himself. Kraglin doesn't own him, and doesn't want to either. Yondu is a force of nature, and that's nothing you tame. He's just glad that he's allowed to be a recurring actor in this show. Main cast, even. Here to stay at his mate's side, no matter what, and that Yondu wants him there, too. He doesn't really know how to say that without sounding cheesy, though. Probably doesn't have to, considering that they're in the middle of their own engagement party, so he just says, “That ass is perfect the way it is, no need for decoration.” 

Yondu's laugh is like smoke, scratching in the throat and bad smelling. It's also decidedly dirty, so Kraglin rolls the rest of the way on top of him and relocates his mouth to a blue neck, offered to his amusement. He worries the soft skin with his teeth (the normal ones, not the set hidden in his gums. That'll come out on the wedding night), and every little hitch in Yondu's breath makes him feel even more drunk than he is. He's in the middle of sucking a bruise just under his ear when they're rudely interrupted.

“Hey! No getting frisky in me bunk!” Tullk calls from where he just helped Mujabah onto the dance floor (which really is only a patch of floor between the bunks where most of the so called dancing is taking place). They ignore him. Until, of course, he stomps over and bodily hauls Kraglin off and onto the floor. After that he has their full attention. 

“Ye got yer own bunk. Stars, ye got yer own ﬂarking quarters, all private like. Go and screw around there!” 

He lets Yondu vacate the bunk out of his own steam, because even with untold quantities of alcohol swishing around in his stomach he's not dumb enough to manhandle the second mate. The coat's fallen open wide enough for the arrow to be visible. 

When they're both standing on semi-steady legs, Tullk sends them off with a wink. “Have fun, lads,” he says, and stumbles back over to where Mujabah is slow dancing with Kiba. It's a nice picture, but they don't stick around to gawp. 

It's the ass end of the night shift, and the corridors are practically empty. They have to support each other, because now that they're upright and moving, the booze hits in a second wave. It's also a good excuse to snog as much as possible. Finally they reach the door to Yondu's quarter after stumbling through the hall way holding the rooms of all the senior staff. Yondu presses his hand against the palm scanner, never retracting his tongue from Kraglin's mouth. The sensor makes a sad little peep, and the door doesn't open. He grunts into the kiss and smacks it again, but the outcome is the same. He detaches himself from his partner to give the scanner a nasty look, and wipes his palm against Kraglin's shirt. Then he tries again. The sound of failure blares through the otherwise silent hall way. 

“Fuck it,” Yondu mumbles and slams Kraglin against the door, diving right back in. 

That is, of course, the moment the door opens. They fall into the room with an undignified squeak. Well, Kraglin squeaks, because Yondu lands on top of him and the air leaves his lungs in one violent exhale. There, lying on the floor in a heap, they look up at Martinex, who musters them with a bemused expression. 

“Wrong door,” he says.


	4. Wannabe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally get a look at the more peculiar Ravager wedding traditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but here is the update :D I hope you like it!

The alarm starts wailing only about two hours after they fell asleep (sticky and entangled in Yondu's bed, because not even the embarrassment of falling into Marty's quarters and then being sent off with the first mate's promise of wearing noise-canceling headphones for his morning routine was enough to smother their libidos). Yondu reacts first by throwing Kraglin's wrist comm against the wall. That doesn't make it stop blaring, of course, so Kraglin gets up to retrieve it, assisted by a kick that sends him flying off the mattress. The floor is, much like life itself, hard and cold. His throat is so fucking dry that his curses come out as a croak. The light of the wrist comm drives a thousand tiny needles into his brain, but he can look at it long enough to turn off the alarm and take in the time. 

“Fuck. My shift starts in thirty minutes,” he laments. 

“Shut up,” is the only answer he receives, groaned from under a pillow. 

~

Fifteen minutes later he stumbles out into the corridor. A snore is heard from within the room before the door slides shut and the hermetic seal engages. Yondu should be overseeing the training regimen of his strike team, but they can handle themselves and he's second mate. That means he doesn't _really_ have to be anywhere until his bridge shift later, and therefore can sleep for another four hours. Kraglin gives the closed door a vicious kick. 

The areas that are not quarters or supply closets are perpetually lit. After the darkness of Yondu's room he has to stop a moment and screw up his face at the spike of pain that feels like someone stabbed a knife through his eyeballs into his brain. He debates if he should go and choke down whatever passes as breakfast this morning, but just the thought makes his stomach try to eject its contents in the wrong direction. Caff will do. 

Before he can take a single step, though, a quiet hiss alerts him to the opening of a door further down the hallway. He looks up startled, squinting in the direction of the sound, and watches in horror as Aleta and Stakar step out of the captain's quarters. They freeze when they spot him, and for a moment everyone's just staring. 

Then Aleta laughs. 

“You look like shit, Obfonteri,” she tells him. “Had a fun party?” It's accompanied by an eyebrow wiggle. 

“Yes, mam,” Kraglin croaks dutifully, and Aleta grins at him when she passes. Stakar, on the other hand, musters him critically. 

“Are you even in a state to do save work on the m-ships?” and boy does he sound grumpy for someone who isn't a wrong smell away from hurling. Stars, the man's wife is aboard for the first time this quarter, he must have gotten laid six ways to Sunday if Yondu's stories of the Ogord's kinky adventures can be believed. There's no fucking reason for him to give Kraglin the stink eye this early in the morning. 

“Yes, sir. My duties won't suffer, sir,” he answers quickly, not letting his thoughts show since he's not suicidal. It's hard to get his spine into a halfway straight position. He's a sloucher under normal circumstances, the hangover doesn't do his posture any favors. Stakar only shakes his head and follows his wife down the corridor. 

“Shit, it was his engagement party. Let the kids have their fun!” she calls over her shoulder, sending Kraglin a cheeky wink. He feels his face grow hot with embarrassment, and only hopes that the first mate will keep their little mix-up from last night to himself. Considering how tight the admirals are with each other, it's probably wishful thinking. The only silver lining is that Yondu will catch the brunt of the teasing. 

“Yeah yeah, you only say that because the hungover guy isn't responsible for the flight-worthiness of _your_ entire m-ship squadron,” Stakar grumbles. 

“That's rich coming from the guy who won a fucking moon in a bet, but doesn't remember how or from whom because he was so shitfaced,” says Aleta just as they turn around the corner. Kraglin asks the empty corridor, “A moon?” but gets no answer. Then he remembers that his idiot team was getting just as wasted as him last night, which means he'll not just have to double check his own work the whole damn day, but theirs too. In his three years as shift supervisor of the m-ship mechanics, there wasn't a single accident because of bad maintenance or faulty repairs. He's not gonna screw up his record now. 

~

Later that day a miserable and bad tempered Yondu sits in the captain's chair and writes reports. To his consternation, there are a lot of reports. All of Marty's and Stakar's from the whole last week, plus his own from back when he last did paperwork. It's been a while.  
Sadly the quarter master's requisition form has been deleted from the server. Sneaky bastards. He looks over to the console for the main canon to complain at Mujabah, only to find that it's not their chief gunner at the controls. Instead, it's some Hraxian from the night shift. 

Did Jabs get so apocalyptic drunk that she had to get one of her underlings to do her shift?

“You!” he barks, making the entire bridge crew flinch and turn as he's sitting in the back and they can't see who he's glaring at. He glares at all of them. They look a little scared, probably because they aren't used to working with him since they're _all_ night shifters. 

“Why the fuck are you lot on the second shift?” he asks them. 

“C-captain's orders, sir,” one squeaks. They're a seven-eyed creature from the reaches of unknown space, their pale purple skin randomly dotted with yellow blue circles that make Yondu's eyes hurt. Stars, those night shifters are a weird bunch. 

“Why?” he asks. 

They all stare at him wide-eyed until he makes an impatient hand gesture. The purple one gets their vocal cords to work first again, and says, “We don't question the captain's orders, sir.” 

Right. Stupid question. He needs more caff, and he needs to find out what's going on. So he sends the gunner to the mess and gives Stakar a call. 

“What is it?” is the impatient reply. No video. Yondu scowls down at his wrist comm. 

“Just wanted to ask why the night shifters are cluttering up the bridge.” 

“Are they causing you problems?” Stakar asks instead of answering.

“Well, no. I -”

“Then I don't see why you care. They need the extra training. Are you finished with the reports?” 

“Not yet-”

“Then how about you get back to work instead of questioning my orders, boy?” Stakar barks. It's a rhetorical question. The call gets disconnected before Yondu can say anything else. He blinks dumbly down at his inactive wrist comm, then pulls himself together and sends a burning glare to the crew around him. They flinch and turn back around to their stations, hunching over and making themselves as small as possible. He sneers at their backs. Extra training, huh? He taps through the files on the console inlaid in the arm of the captain's chair, watching the windows flit over the holo-screen sticking up to his left until he reaches the program he was searching for. 

“Alright, fuckers. Captain said you need the extra training, so I'mma give you some extra training. We gon do a drill!” 

Mortified eyes turn to him, and he gives them his best dirty grin. 

“Eyes on your screens, kids. The Skrulls are attacking!” 

One of the pilots whimpers. Yondu initiates the program. 

~

Luckily for Kraglin and his very quiet mechanics, the day is slow. There are no big repairs on their to-do list, only a few checkups and “a wonky humming sound when I make a sharp left turn”. His stomach has settled a little by the time lunch comes around. His head is still pounding in tact with his heart, and he feels constantly queasy, but there's a good chance that whatever he'll eat will actually stay down. 

The mess hall is not as raucous as usually, due to the big amount of hungover people. He appreciates it. After grabbing a bowl of real honest to gods soup, which brightens his day immensely, he makes his way to their usual table only to realize that it's completely empty. It makes sense that Yondu isn't here because he either came in early to avoid the midday rush or because he hasn't eaten anything. But the rest of the gang? Normally, Tullk drinks his fifth cup of caff and does paperwork for the quartermaster while mechanically shoveling food into his mouth, and Mujabah chatters excitedly about some new weapon or calibration for the main cannon or the newest gossip. Most of the times the twins are present, and even if they can't eat like most people, they are here to take a break and participate in the conversation. 

Now, though, the table is empty. 

“Huh,” he mumbles and sits down anyway. Fine by him, that just means he can enjoy his soup in peace. 

~

Just as the Skrull rip through their starboard shields, Yondu's wrist comm bleats annoyingly. A face, gauntness amplified by the lighting the picture was taken in, with messy scruff and a metallic smirk appears on the holo-screen. Yondu stares down at it, wondering why the fuck that dumb gob makes him feel all those disgusting happy feelings usually associated with over-dramatic wannabe actors in Krylorian soap operas, or constipation. He pushes the answer button just as one of the pilots gives an ungodly shriek because a virtual Skrull fighter dive-bombed one of their thrusters. Had this been reality instead of a simulation, the whole ship would have rocked with the explosion. Like this, the only indication that they are getting horribly butchered are the strings of data and the schematics on the screens that inform them of the loss of atmosphere on the decks E and D. 

“The fuck,” Kraglin says, looking bewildered and generally disgruntled. He's kinda pretty, Yondu thinks and immediately shakes his head at himself. Yeah, he wants to marry the ugly bastard, that doesn't mean he's gotta get all mushy about him, not even in his head. Kraglin's barely pretty in a dimly lit bar after four drinks, let alone hungover and in broad daylight. 

“The Skrull got our thrusters,” Yondu tells him sadly. 

“Ouuh, that one of those drills we always did when I was new?” Kraglin asks with open schadenfreude. Nobody liked those drills. Stakar had hated them the most. He'd always looked ready to space the lot of them afterward. “They any good?”

Yondu looks up at the chaotic scene before him, the sweating night shifters and their cursing and whining and overall failure. The engines are 30 seconds from overheating and taking the entire ship with them. Yondu could give the order to vent, but at this point it really doesn't matter if they blow up because of the melting cores or because they stop moving and catch the next bomb sent their way. 

“Let's just say if we ever get taken by surprise in the night, we might as well stay in bed. We gon be dead either way.” 

Kraglin snorts but after a moment his brows furrow in confusion. 

“Night?” 

“Oh, yeah. I don't know why but I got all the weirdo's from third shift here. Stakar said they needed the extra training, and boy was he right.” 

“Huh,” Krags says, and Yondu can see him scratching his head. “So Jabs ain't there with ya? Or Kiba?” 

“Nope.” 

“Weird. I haven't seen them all day. Not even at lunch. Tullk and Horuz neither, and you know how Horuz is always running 'round the hangar lookin' for slackers. S'why I called, actually. Making me nervous.” 

Yondu groans, and not only because some Xandarian funeral march honks out of the speakers as the ship goes up in flames. Marty's idea of a joke, no doubt. He rubs his temple.

“Tha's why Stakar's been so bitchy over the comm, and why I gotta do everyone's fucking reports,” he whines. “The assholes are keepin' me busy!” 

“Ya know what that means, right?” Kraglin whispers and takes a haunted look around where ever he is at the moment. The ceiling above his head is blurry, which means it's high. The hangar, probably. 

“Yeah. The fuckers are planning the marooning. Ugh, why so early?! They have at least another two weeks time,” Yondu whines.

There's a short pause, and the line is crackling with static as Kraglin exhales too closely to the mic. 

“I'm gonna die,” he mutters. It makes Yondu grin down at his distressed mate and say fondly, “Nah.” 

“Stakar's gonna send me to some hell planet. Or just space me outright, and no one will ever know!”

“Well, if ya die it means you didn't like me enough, but no pressure,” Yondu retorts, and before Kraglin can protest he calls cheerily, “See ya Kraggles!” and hangs up. 

~

Kraglin thinks about hiding, but ultimately this is something he has to overcome if he wants to get married. _The blue idiot is worth it_ , he tells himself and walks back to the m-ships that he's gotta fix up. Slowly. Slower even when he realizes that the hangar is a lot emptier than before lunch. Martinex is waiting for him. 

“Hey Krags,” he says, casually leaning against the railing. “How's the head?” He sounds friendly, too, while he pulls a blaster out of his pocket and checks to make sure it's set to stun, not to murder by electrocution. Kraglin shrugs. 

“Ah, you know. Could be better, could be worse. You, uh,” he clears his throat, but it doesn't really make his voice less squeaky. “You told the captains 'bout the little mix up from last night?” 

Marty grins, a thousand diamond facets shifting in the artificial light. Sometimes he's reflecting beams that pepper bright dots of color on the walls. It's kinda pretty, and the reason Kraglin used to dislike Marty, the most likable person that ever joined the Ravagers. Because he's just the kind of shiny that Yondu likes. 

“It might have come up, yeah,” the first mate says, and switches the safety off. Kraglin sighs. 

“I'm not gonna survive this, am I?” 

Marty hesitates for just a moment, a tiny ominous pause where there shouldn't be one, then says cheerily, “Don't be so melodramatic! I'm sure you're gonna be fine.” 

“Fuck you, Marty,” Kraglin says darkly as the blaster is leveled at him. The last thing he sees is a literally blinding grin.

~

“Where we gonna send Kraglin, huh?” Marty asks, carrying the Hraxian kid slung over his shoulder like a sack of yaro roots. He flops him onto a bunk. 

“Oorz,” Stakar says, going through the preflight check. Aleta, doing something on a holo-pad with utmost concentration, only shakes her head. 

“But, boss,” Marty says uncertainly. “Oorz is under Nova blockade. No one's landing or leaving. There's a global gang war going on.” 

Charlie and Krugarr give him a look, too. Stakar smirks. 

“I know.” 

~

The thing is, Yondu was a battle slave for ten of the twenty years his life wasn't his. Fighting is in his blood, maybe not by nature, but by habit. It's ingrained to always be ready, the movement of the kata's are muscle memory like walking or writing your signature.  
So when Tullk steps out of a shadowy alcove just in front of him with the words, “We gotta have us a talk, mate,” Yondu doesn't think, he just reacts and tackles Tullk to the ground. At least that's what he'll claim if Tullk should start complaining. Not that he can push enough air through his throat to speak a whole sentence, with Yondu's knee pressing down on his windpipe. 

“Told ya the talkin' it out was a stupid idea,” Mujabah says from behind him. The others are there, too. Baru and Betyr, one blocking the hallway in each direction, Kiba who looks very uncomfortable and confused, and Horuz, who's carrying a worryingly big screwdriver. 

“What's that thing for, huh?” Yondu asks, and the Xandarian shrugs. “Just in case.” 

“Any chance you come quietly, boss?” Mujabah has the ability to make boss sound like a pet name. It's driven Stakar up the wall on occasion. 

“Fuck no!” Yondu says through his teeth, happy and dangerous and slightly manic. 

“Good,” Jabs answers, echoing his tone, and settles into a fighting stance, mimicking his expression perfectly. 

~

“So,” Mujabah says brightly. She looks like some unholy creature from horror stories, with her dotted face all bruised and swollen, and her teeth bared in a bloody smile. The effect is amplified by the harsh light from the strobe on the ceiling and the rest of the storage room veiled in darkness. The group sitting on crates in a circle stare at her through squinted eyes. “Everyone knows why we've gathered here?” 

“My question is how you can be this chirpy after last night, and after that fight just now,” Horuz grunts from where he's peering through his fingers. 

“Oh, I'm friends with one of the nurses. She gives me infusions after parties and I let her bunk in my room when she's fighting with her boyfriend. And I love fighting” 

Horuz mutters something that sounds like _No shit_.

“I have a question, too,” Kiba says meekly, going as far as raising her hand. 

“Yes, sweetie?” Jabs asks cutely. 

“Why did we just beat up the second mate and drag him into a closet?” 

There's silence for a beat where the others give her a look. Then they give Yondu's unconscious body lying in the middle of their merry little round a look, too. Finally, Tullk says, “It was only Mujabah that beat him up.” 

“ _You_ were the one that stunned him!” she immediately defends herself. “And you tried to talk it out like that was ever gonna work. At least I beat him in a fair fight!” 

“Beat him my ass,” Horuz laughs, “You two were still wrangling on the ground when Tullk finally put a stop to it.” 

“ANYWAY,” Jabs calls loudly. “This is part of the wedding preparations. We're here to plan the pre-marital marooning!”

“That ain't its name,” Tullk mutters. 

“It don't got no other name. We have ta call it by _something_!” she exclaims, and nobody really wants to fight with her. Not after watching her match with Yondu. 

“Uhm,” Kiba says uncertainly. “What exactly is a pre-marital marooning?”

“Oh, you newbies and your lack of knowledge 'bout the age-old Ravager traditions,” Jabs huffs, shaking her head gravely. Kiba answers snottily, “Well, it can't be that old a tradition, the Ravagers have only existed for, what, ten years? And you don't even got a real name for it yet!” 

“That don't change the fact that you know nothing. The pre-marital marooning is a little test the betrothed have to pass before they can get married. It's a modified version of some ancient Arcturian ritual, just more Ravager style. It started when Stakar and Aleta got hitched, back when it was only the seven of them.” She bestows a little pet on Kiba's shoulder. “I sometimes forget you've only been with us for half a year. Good girl.” 

“Quit flirtin', you ain't nearly pretty enough fer it right now,” Tullk admonishes, and continues explaining loudly when Jabs starts cursing at him. “The marooning is supposed to make sure that both that want to get married are really ready to do everything for each other and all that crap, so they're put through a test. Some time after they got engaged, the friends of their future spouse go and knock 'em out and drop 'em on some planet. They get stripped of their leathers, money, and weapons except for one knife. The goal is to make their way back to the ship asap, 'cause the longer it takes, the less favorable are the stars looking on that marriage.” 

“'Course the couple can't end up in the same place,” Horuz adds. 

“And it's a saying that the one who gets home first is the one that wears the breeches in the marriage, so to speak. So even if ya met your soon-to-be on the way, any self-respecting Ravager would sabotage them!” Jabs says. 

“So basically we drop them in a hostile environment with no protection, and they have to battle everyone and everything to come back home, possibly even each other, just so they can get married in the end?” Kiba asks and receives a round of nods. “That's insane!” 

“Well, yeah,” Tullk mumbles. “Ravagers, missy.” 

_Will we be responsible for Kraglin as well?_ Baru signs. 

“Oh no, that's the admirals business,” Jabs snorts. The Lem lays his hands on his chest the way his people do when they laugh and then signs _Poor Kraglin_. His brother asks, _So anyone got an idea where we will maroon our fearless leader?_

“We have some ideas,” Tullk says, and leans forward to share with the class.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :D
> 
> Comments is like Nutella. It's delicious and it makes happy
> 
> If you want you can say hi on tumblr. I'm theinfernalwhistler


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